


Rum and Coke

by croquetkind



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 13:16:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/croquetkind/pseuds/croquetkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He said that he was fine, alright, that it was perfectly okay with him, you whole heartedly believed him and it was gone and out of your mind. Mostly. It seemed just like a little speed bump in your friendship. For a few weeks things were a bit awkward, but by now, you had kind of forgotten the whole incident. Except in recent months you had been questioning some things. </p>
<p>But last night you really fucked things up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, just some information going into this, this will be a multi-chapter fanfiction! Not quite sure how long yet, but there will be lots of plot/character/relationship development! Later in the story there will be smut, though it wouldn't be till later on, seeing as how characters do have to develop with each other!
> 
> I plan to update once a week or so, and if there's ever something postponing the usual updates, I will definitely let you guys know ahead of time, whether here or on my tumblr (croquetkind.tumblr.com) and soon I shall put up a link on the side of my blog with updates on progress for anyone interested.
> 
> Thank you very much, and I hope you all enjoy Chapter 1!

You hiss as the water runs burning hot over your skin, a sudden boiling spray peppering your skin. You can hear the sound of a toilet flushing down the hall as your hands fumble to turn off the water with your blurred vision. This is one of the times you really wish you had gotten contacts so you could even see in places like the shower. Finally the water shuts off and you’re left shivering in the stark change to frigid bathroom air and holding yourself pathetically, leaning against the tile.

“Karkat, what the hell!” you call out to your roommate in a slightly exasperated tone, teeth chattering. “You honestly couldn’t have waited till I was out, asshole?” A snort could be heard not far from the door.

“Calm the fuck down, Egbert,” he replied in his usual cynical tone, waving off the inexplicably rude action. “It’s just some hot water, it’s not like I was shoving ice cubes in your big boy panties like some prankster douchebag.” You roll your eyes. Well, you had been in there long enough.

“You’re lucky I was almost done, Mister,” you say half-heartedly back, grabbing a fresh towel from the rack and beginning to dry yourself. A sigh escapes your lips after the slam of a door reverberating through the dorm fades off. God damn you’re tired. Sliding into your trademark Ghostbusters slimer boxers, (which were naturally your most prided article of clothing, only next to your Ghost Rider tee, signed by Mr. Cage himself and purchased off ebay) you slide onto the toilet seat to sit and take a breather.

Last night you had really fucked things up.

 

Accepting the rum and coke was inevitably your first mistake. You never were much for alcohol to begin with, and if you did happen to make the stupid decision to drink, it generally resulted in a pretty shitty way, seeing as how you were never a man to be able to hold much more than a beer or two, let alone liquor. In fact, wine was a much preferred beverage when the time called for it. Yet you went against everything your gut originally told you.

“Hey man, want a drink?” he asked coolly, taking out two cheap CVS brand plastic cups and a couple of cans of Coca-cola. A small, devious smile tugged at Dave’s lips as he cracked one of the cans without waiting for an answer and snatched a bottle of booze from the other side of the counter. You eyed it wit some discontent.

You had been reluctant in your answer, and had held off saying anything until the blonde had appeared to be generously measuring some of the rum into the bottoms of each cup despite no response. “Uh, yeah, sure man,” you said, laughing a bit uneasily. You didn’t really want to drink that particular night. Dave could obviously sense this.

“Egbert, chill out man. You can handle a little highball, can’t you?” He chuckled, topping off the drinks with the fizzing soda and grabbing them both before making his way out of the kitchen and through the messy living room. 

“Sorry there’s no ice bro, icemaker bitched out a couple weeks ago.” You shake your head that it’s no big deal and take your cocktail, though you hold it and only that. Dave tosses back a slug. “And you know..” he starts, voice completely deadpan.

“Ice trays are for squares.”

You can’t help it, you burst out laughing. “Oh my god,” you choke out in your cackling. “Dave, that is almost the worst pun I’ve heard from you yet!” He snickers a little bit, smiling at the goofy grin on your face. The wonderfully shitty joke had distracted you for a moment.

“Well don’t be shy, drink it, shit’s expensive as hell,” he instead responded with, running his fingers through his hair casually. The idea of Dave’s disapproval is a bit daunting, so you do so, sipping it tentatively. The taste is foreign, though you choke it down. This gains a nod of approval.

“I really have to teach you how to drink sometime,” he comments, eyes watching you behind his glasses. You just sigh a little and lean back into the old couch cushions. Strider’s dorm room looked like a tornado tore through it. The only area of the room that was clean and organized was the corner that held his turn tables and recording equipment. That area of the place was pristine in this pigsty.

The lighting was dim in the room, which was a small living space that was used for a living room. Connected was the kitchen, the two areas only separated by a small island bar in between. The kitchen had to be only about six or seven square feet large and had a rusty, old refrigerator in the corner. Besides the turn tables and the beat up, run down couch they were lounging on, the room had a small coffee table and an old box tv in the corner with an old red N64 hooked up to it. Can’t beat the classics.

That night had been supposed to be a night for the two of you to study for your classes. It was around mid-semester now, and you had known each other for nearly a year, and yet were already best of friends. It felt awesome having such a good buddy to yourself. Dave had begun attending the same college as you starting in the fall, but the kid had come to take a tour of the place towards the end of spring semester last year. “Gotta be all up ahead of the game,” he had explained smoothly on your first meeting.

It had just so happened that you, being one of the top students of his class, were selected to show the guy around as a tour guide of sorts. This was of no huge issue to you, and you didn’t mind in the least meeting someone new to show them around and get to know them. The two of you met, exchanged IM handles and phone numbers during the tour, and had proceeded to talk and hang out all summer long. By the time the fall semester started, you were near inseparable.

Or would have been.

Throughout the beginnings of your friendship, you had discovered, via Facebook, that Strider swung for both teams, according to his profile. Now, this posed no problem to you at the time, and you did not mention it to him or mind in the least. It simply never came up.

So when he decided to tell you his feelings you were taken by surprise. 

You had never felt any feelings of affection from him before, or if you did, must have mistaken them for something else. Being the more ignorant one to these things, you had missed many at first subtle, but then not so subtle hints and suggestions the blonde had been throwing. And apparently that you were reciprocating. After a lot of denial of what was going on, rejecting him and telling him that you weren’t really into guys, in a not so polite manner, Strider had keeled down and reverted back to his stoic and solemn ‘cool guy’ demeanor. 

He said that was fine, alright, that it was perfectly okay with him, you whole heartedly believed him and it was gone and out of your mind. Mostly. It seemed just like a little speed bump in your friendship. For a few weeks things were a bit awkward, but by now, you had kind of forgotten the whole incident, especially after Dave had gotten over his infatuation seemingly so quickly. 

Except in recent months you had been questioning some things. You see, you had a few handful of friends, Rose, Jade, Karkat.. all really good and strong friendships, just like with Dave.

But with Dave.. you’d been noticing how different it was from those other relationships. This one seemed somehow more intimate for a friendship. You two were closer, more together than any other pair of friends. And now you had been starting to wonder just how intimate that was. This was a guy that you felt like you could share anything with, no matter how personal. Not even you and Karkat were quite that close. 

He was always there for you, and you loved spending time with him. You enjoyed everything about him, his voice, his laugh, his adorable façade of being a ‘cool’ guy.. you even loved how you could make him smile. No one else could do that. Were these things you felt more than just something friends share? You couldn’t be sure. But you were questioning it, no matter how much you wanted to deny it.

Not that you would ever act on it. No way, you had kept everything firmly in your head. Especially because you were so scared of the idea of well.. homosexuality in the first place. It always made you nervous, the idea of being rejected, a social outcast because of something so simple.. that could never happen to you. No way you were into guys. You couldn’t be. Besides, that wasn’t what it was like with Dave, you assured yourself. Never with Dave.

Unfortunately, alcohol changes a person’s reasoning entirely. 

Dave did very well teach you how to drink that night, and he was damn proud of it. After finishing off your fourth beverage a few hours into the evening, the blonde nearly cheered in approval. 

“That’s my Egbert! Damn, I never thought I’d be able to get you to down that much without puking, you prudish dork,” he said in sharp approval. Giggling a bit, you wiped your mouth. Your head was throbbing a bit and everything seemed somewhat fuzzy, but at least you hadn’t passed out like you usually did at this point. In fact, you had forgotten why you believed it would be bad to drink tonight. 

“I’m no prude,” you comment, grinning and flopping down onto the couch, your head on his lap. He flinched briefly, not used to you ever making such a motion, but soon relaxed, though more uneasy. You didn’t notice. Second mistake.

He shifted a little. “Damn.. you’ve uh.. drunk more than me tonight, ha.” His voice was a bit more unsteady now, but still chill as ever, expression remaining cool and collected. You sit up slowly and turn to him, cocking your head. You couldn’t quit looking at him, and your stomach was getting butterflies, though you swore to yourself it was just the drink.

“You’re always wearing those glasses Dave,” you say quietly, leaning over him. Your curiosity about his eyes had been around for a while, but now more than ever. As you gazed at him, the only thing you could think about was what was behind those rims. How long you’d wished to see what was behind them. You were sure they had to be mind blowing. Your comment had made him even more unsettled, but you still didn’t notice. The only logical thing going through your mind at the moment was to take them off.

“John, what are you doing?” You reached out slowly and touched the aviators, pulling them gently off his face. And you stared. 

“John..” Dave’s voice was wavering, uncertain, and almost scared. Just like his eyes. They were wide with shock, fear, and red as blood. Full of life, emotion, the things that the man so desperately always tried to hide. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight. They were stunning.

“Beautiful,” you murmur softly, hand running along the side of his face and leaning your own closer, to Dave’s much heightened surprised and unease. Your mind didn’t want to listen to the growing pit in your belly right now telling you to quit this. You couldn’t help but follow your basic instincts.

Third mistake. You kissed him. Not even thinking, you pressed your lips to his, kissing him deeply, only to no reciprocation. Instead, Dave abruptly pulled away, astonished, pulling himself back completely from you. He pushed you away, to your confusion, and hurt flashed across your face. It also flashed through Dave’s, as well as shock, denial, and anger.

“John, what the fuck?!” he shouted, scampering to stand up, and away from you, to your bewilderment. 

“Dave?” you asked weakly, begging for an explanation. He snatched his shades roughly from you and placed them back on quickly, protecting his eyes again. Frustrated hands gripped at ashy blonde hair and a frown deepened on his face with a furrowed brow.

“Why the fucking hell did you do that? What were you thinking?” he demanded, hissing the words at you. You blinked, surprised, and pain spurred into your expression. Why was he reacting like this? It’s not like Dave was straight or anything.. This shouldn’t have been a problem. All you felt was guilt, pain, rejection, all burning through you. 

“I-I’m sorry!” you blurted out in upset, trying to shrink in his presence. Now all you could feel was your stomach, nauseous and sickened, sickened by the sudden array of emotions you were feeling. You wanted to get away. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you continue to mutter desperately, head hurting like a bitch and leaving you frightened and even more confused.

His gaze shifts and he moves to glare at you. “Leave me alone!” he spits out, and you immediately get up, hurrying to the door and gripping the handle. Your eyes flick to his face, wide and questioning.

“Just go,” are the last words you hear from him before you whip your head away and dart from the dorm and out the door. 

His voice had cut like knives into you. The anger, upset, desperation, pain. Those last words had been choked, forced, as if they were difficult for him to even say. It had sounded like Dave Strider was crying. Feeling tears well up in your own eyes yourself you sink to the ground, back pressed against the wall and you put your head into your hands, hiding your shamed face. 

What the hell were you even thinking? Kissing Dave? What a fool you were, yet again. You hurt him. You saw the pain, the devestation in his eyes. It’s your fault. Tears began to roll down your face. And not any of the big, fat waterfalls that streamed whenever you watched Con Air, or an equally sad and touching movie. 

These hurt. There was a thousand pound weight on your chest constricting your breathing, and your stomach curled and clenched in pain and guilt. Each sob was forced, as you tried to quiet yourself. It was a surprise no one from any other dorm came out to yell at you. But you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t believe how stupid you were.

Shakily you pull your phone out of your pocket and scroll through your contacts, though your vision is blurred from both the tears, and your glasses slipping down your nose. Finally you find the number you’re looking for and hit the send button, holding it up to your ear. It rang and rang, the sound hollow in your ear, when finally he picked up.

“What the fuck do you want now, Egbert? It’s eleven at night,” an irritated voice asks, not even bothering with a friendly greeting. Not surprising.

“K-Karkat.. can you come pick me up?” you ask, trying to stabilize your voice, but not succeeding in the least. It’s obvious the other noticed, because there’s a moment of silence as the other quiets.

“I’m on my way,” he replied softly but tone firm, the click of the phone hanging up heard right afterwards. 

A small gray corvette pulled up on the street next to the sidewalk where you stand, shivering in the cold and holding yourself to keep warm and for the moral support of your arms. You really wish you had brought your warm blue hoodie now. You step over to the car and climb in shotgun, greeted immediately by the much welcomed warm air of the vehicle. Thank god for car heaters.

“Thank you so much, Karkat,” you mumble softly, keeping your head down in shame. He looks at you for a moment, obviously concerned. When you finally look back at him he stubbornly shifts his eyes to the road, pretending to not be so worried. 

“Have you been drinking?” You nod and he only huffs, running a hand through his dark brown hair. Warm honey-brown eyes flick back at you for a moment before he grips the steering wheel and pulls into the road, starting to drive again.

“Thanks for calling then. I don’t want you being a dumb fuck and driving after pounding the juice,” he mutters in a low voice. You nod again, and he sighs.

After that, the drive is quiet. It’s a rare occasion for Karkat to give you so much space around situations like this, or not question you about everything. It had only occurred once or twice before this, and you’ve known him for going on two years. When he parks outside your dorm block, you slowly get out of the car to wait for the brunette, and then the two of you walk side by side into the building. Getting in, you both make for your shared room, still silent.

And after you had changed and curled up in your sheets, your whole body only now settling down from the incident, your phone buzzes next to you, and your eyes flick open. Picking up the cell, you squint at the screen to read the contact. It’s him.

_sorry bro. give me some time. i can’t handle seeing you for a bit._

You must have read the text ten times before you could really take it in, and then you can only grip your sheets and cringe, feeling like you’re going to be sick. You didn’t sleep much last night.

Finishing drying your messy hair off with the towel, you hang it up to dry on the rack, and move to the sink. You’re almost scared to look in the mirror but you do anyways. What’s the point? You gaze into the mirror and can’t help but think, what a mess. The hair hasn’t changed much, messy, untamable, bedhead, as always. But your eyes are dull, your face tired, and hints of dark circles under your eyes. Plus the shower didn’t exactly aid your pounding headache.

You’re John Egbert, college student with stunning grades, a pissy, endearing roommate, a wrecked friendship, and the worst hangover of your life. And you shouldn’t have accepted the rum and coke.


	2. Chapter 2

“So are you ever going to fucking tell me what happened, asshole?”

It had now been two weeks since the incident with Dave. The two of you hadn’t spoken since, but you thought about him every day. There was hardly a moment that passed without you worrying about him, even just somewhere in the back of your mind. It was driving you insane.

“Fine Egbert, don’t even give enough of a fuck to answer me anymore, is that what it is now?” Your roommate’s tone of voice was angry, but you could tell just from his posture and the look on his face that he was more seriously concerned about you than pissed. 

“Give me some time, I’m sorry,” is all you can reply to him with, the same thing you’ve been saying to Karkat ever since it happened. But he was done giving you space about it.

He stiffly stood up from his bed, fingers flexing in frustration. Sitting propped up on pillows atop your own mattress, you pretend to ignore his presence as he moves toward your bed, instead pretending to study your biology text book. The diagrams describing the differences between metaphase and anaphase were much more interesting at the time than talking to Karkat about what happened anyways.

Sitting on your bed himself, leaning against the wall adjacent to you, he sighs deeply and rubs the back of his neck, gaze shifted away. After many moments pass of you frankly ignoring him and him stubbornly waiting for you, his brows knit together and he snatches the textbook from your grasp, shutting it.

“Hey! I was studying that!” you protest as he tosses the heavy book to the floor, where it lands with a dull thunk. 

“You suck cock at lying,” Karkat says, glaring at you. You can’t deny this, so instead you cross your arms childishly. He snorts and pulls his knees up to his chest, arms lazily draped around them. This time there’s silence, but it’s not uncomfortable as you both sit quietly, waiting for each other to strike something up.

“How’s that novel you started?” you finally ask to break the silence, the idea in mind that deterring the conversation to something casual will help your avoidance of the topic of Dave.

Karkat chuckled a little before responding, and you thought your incredibly silly distraction had almost worked. “They should have called it Fifty Shades of Bullshit.” he said nonchalantly, and you can’t help but grin. “It’s almost as bad as the crap you’re giving me here.” The grin falls.

“That bad, huh? But all these soccer moms out there apparently love it!” You continue the façade, still determined to not have to talk to Karkat about why you’ve been barely speaking lately. Your distance has been scaring him you think, but you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to him about it.

“This shit is making me ponder homosexuality with how badly written it is,” he snickered jokingly, though you shifted uneasily. ‘Better make sure I don’t read it,’ you wanted to reply. ‘Because if I did, I’d probably screw things up even more with my stupid sexuality.’ You couldn’t help these thoughts that ate you alive.

Over the past couple weeks you couldn’t stop yourself from blaming everything that happened on your feelings. Dave must hate you now, and it was your fault entirely. Many hours had been spent thinking about why your friend had been so upset, but you had no idea. The only conclusion you had reached was that everything was due to your stupid feelings for Dave. You wish they would just go away, so that everything could be okay again.

But that wasn’t about to happen. If anything, you were only more aware of those butterflies in your stomach whenever you would think of him. Not about the incident, but just him. His poise, his smooth, low voice, the way his lips curved in a quirky way whenever he was trying to force down a smile around you.. 

No doubt about it, you had the hots for Mr. Strider. And it scared you, especially since that night. How much you missed him was crushing you, like a thick, heavy block in your chest, keeping you from breathing. You could hardly sleep most nights, your mind not settling down like wished it to more than anything, and instead focusing on the astounding feeling of emptiness plaguing you with the absence of his presence.

Finally you let out a small sigh, having realized how tangled in your own thoughts you had become. Karkat immediately shifted his gaze to you once more at this soft noise.

“Soon.” You turn your head to look at him, eyes soft and unguarded. “We can talk soon.” He nods slowly, giving you a grateful look. His posture relaxes and you can nearly feel the relief evident in his mood.

“Uh, anyways,” you begin quickly after, effectively changing the subject. You didn’t want to even think about those things anymore. “I was thinking movie marathon tonight?” Karkat raises a brow at you and you grin sheepishly. 

“What, is Egbert suddenly feeling like a little socialite again for once?” His voice is sharp and witty, and you can’t help but laugh a little. The brunette, no matter how hard he would get down on you about everything, never seemed to fail to cheer up your mood. Over the past weeks you had kind of forgotten how much you enjoyed the smaller male’s company.

You shrug, suddenly a bit cheerier. “Well I dunno, we just haven’t been hanging out and I thought it would be nice.” He shakes his head as if astounded by you, but you catch the little smile pulling at his lips.

“Movie night it is, then!” you exclaim in excitement, hopping up from your bed immediately and moving over to the large cabinet underneath your sizable flat screen. Your dad really had enjoyed treating you for college, and thought it suitable to purchase a lovely television to go with your extensive movie collection which you insisted on bringing along.

An extensive movie collection which was only made to be even more extensive by the wide array of movies that your roommate had also contributed to the mountains of DVD cases. You guys had a few old tapes in there as well. 

“Alright, so what should we start with? We could always go for a classic beginning of 50 First Dates to suit Mr. Grumpypants and his lust for romcons,” you coo teasingly to him, deftly pulling out the familiar case and waving it in the air. He huffs.

“I do not lust after romcoms!” he growled in protest, and you chortle.

“Oh yeah? Then why is your most recommended genre on our Netflix account the Romantic Comedy section?” You prod and tease him more, and his face turns a significantly deeper shade of red. 

Eventually he snaps, and just reaches over and grabs the case from you, sliding off the bed and marching over to the TV to get the disk player up and running. “Fine, just go make some damn popcorn for us, will ya?” You flash a smile of victory.

“Sure thing, Drama Queen.” With that, you hop up from the floor, shutting the cabinet, and make your way to the kitchen. The two of you share a sizable dorm, the kitchen area alone hosting a refrigerator, sink, counter, and oven, and it is a comfortable amount of space. There a two bathrooms, one a full bathroom, tub, sink, and toilet, and the other just with an old john and wash station.

The room that held the famous movie cabinet and flat screen was a moderate sized square room which the two of you use as a bedroom, and your living area. You both have beds, one in each of two corners, and a small night stand next to the mattresses. The wall facing your beds was garbed with the big TV smack in the middle of it. A huge cabinet resided below it, which held all of your precious movies. Equip with a blue ray player and decent speakers, it was the perfect movie room. 

That was pretty much all you guys needed in their bed/living room, aside from your dressers and the hamper you shared, which you had long ago decided to neglect using. It was pretty funny to see how set off about the mess you’d make Karkat was.

When you returned, a large bowl of steaming hot, buttery as hell popcorn in hand, Karkat was sitting on his bed, knees pulled up to his chest and chin resting upon them. You look at him curiously.

“Movie’s cued,” he says, his voice gruff, briefly glancing at you. “Did you get a bowl for me, jerk off?”

You laugh and plop down on your bed, grabbing a handful of the sweet, greasy popcorn. “Get your ass over here, silly, and bring the remote!” He blinks a little, confused by the request, but does so, huffing and grabbing the clicker before moving to your bed.

He settles in against the wall beside you again, grumbling about personal space and snatching the popcorn bowl from you. You don’t mind. Finally, he takes the remote and hits play, and the two of you get comfortable for the first movie in your movie marathon.

You still didn’t get much sleep even after that, though.

 

Literature had to be the most boring college class you had ever attended. Hell, all the mindlessly stupid subjects you had to take in high school weren’t even as bad as this. You seriously hated required courses. 

It wasn’t that you were bad at the actual subject; it was that the material was so easy it was a bore. After a year and a half of taking high level biology and physics classes, a measly course about writing structure and how to write poetry and prose was a breeze. And you were nearly falling asleep in every class.

It was the time of year that poetry was being studied, and today, the dark skinned professor garbed in designer clothing was balls deep into a lecture about the devices used in some of Edgar Allen Poe’s poetry. Lame. 

You paid as close attention as you could, however, because apparently Professor Dolorosa was assigning a project to all of the students based on the things discussed in the lecture. It was the first project of the year that would be conducted in pairs. You were just pleading that you didn’t get someone like Nepeta Lejion to work with, or any of the other ditzy idiots in your class.

“The objective to be obtained is a fifteen sheet essay elaborating upon one of the devices used by Poe in his Gothic poetry. Along with previously stated essay, I shall expect a poem comprised by your group which utilizes the device you have researched, as well as a works cited. Naturally.” 

Scribble, scribble. You write everything down like fire. Your professor speaks way too eloquently, and you can barely understand a breath of what she’s saying. But no one in the room dares to ask her to repeat it, or phrase it more simply, in fear of a harsh rebuttal of say, doing the project alone, or something equally, if not more tragic.

“Now then, let us assign our pairs-“ Slam. The large double doors of the room pound closed into their metal frame, cutting off Dolorosa. The person who opened them to begin with obviously didn’t care much whether they closed quietly or not.

“Sorry I’m late, Prof,” a smooth, courteous voice says to the teacher, as the owner of it slipped her a note on a blue sheet of paper. She scowls at the student, but reads it carefully, once, twice, three times.

In the meantime, you try hide yourself, heart leaping into your throat as you slip down in your chair, trying to shrink into your seat. 

The professor sighs. “Very well, Mr. Strider. But locate a seat directly before I eject you from the room.” Dave curtly nods and slides through the sea of students in the room, deciding to settle himself in a chair a few rows behind you. As he passes your place, his arm brushed against your shoulder in the small space. You weren’t entirely sure if it was intentional or not.

But now you couldn’t keep from quivering in your seat.

The professor went right on with assigning pairs after the disturbance, but you weren’t listening. All you could focus on was trying to disappear. Just sink through the floor. You were positive that you could feel his eyes burning into the back of your head, despite the possibility of him even looking in your direction was quite slim.

“Vriska Serket, you will be working alongside Miss Pyrope, and let’s see..” She had called off seemingly most of the class, and you were trying to distract yourself by figuring out who was left that you might possibly be put with. Throughout the pairing process, there had been many cheers of joy, whoops of success, shouts of anger, and the infamous cries of despair.

You wondered which one of those you would be making.

“Mister Egbert, it would appear you are the odd one out in this organization of uneven numbered students,” Professor Dolorosa informs you, top which you snap your head up and soak in the information. Oh. Working alone. That was alright, you could deal with that this time.

“Fortunately, we now have an even set of attendees to this class, due to the unprecedented arrival of a new student. The contingency of completing the assignment solo has been removed.” You blink, processing the woman’s elevated diction.

Oh.

OH.

You made a choked noise.

“David, please arrange yourself in a suitable manner to work with Mister Egbert.”

You feel like you’re going to faint. Somewhere behind you, you hear a chair scrape across the floor, being pulled out. You have to convince yourself not to hyperventilate. Footsteps draw nearer to you, and you feel Dave’s arm brush your back as he moves behind you. It sends shivers down your spine.

“Splendid. You all now possess still a few moments to discuss the assignment with your partner before you are released.”

The blonde settles in next to you, quiet, and you wish you knew where his gaze lied beneath those glasses. For a moment you wonder what emotions lay in his eyes right now. Glancing at him, he appears relaxed in his posture, but you know him well enough to understand how tense his positioning is. 

Things like the small flexing of his fingers, the way his feet are planted firmly to the floor, as opposed to lazily draped on it, tip you off to how he’s feeling. These little things you have come to notice about him, just you.

There’s no doubt that how on edge you are, however, is painfully obvious. You couldn’t bring yourself to move your hands from their tight grip on your chair, let alone speak. 

After a plentiful serving of awkward moments pass, he finally clears his throat. Your head moves to look at him, though your gaze quickly shifts away afterward.

“So uh.. you got moved to Dolorosa’s class?” Your voice is wavering, on the verge of cracking and you mentally scold yourself for not being smoother with your words. You’re already messing this encounter up more than necessary, it would appear.

“Yeah. Vriska’s bitch of a mom couldn’t handle my ‘vulgar behavior’ and tossed me to face this ray of sunshine and vocabulary over here.” You can’t help but snort a little at this, and it seems to ease the mood slightly. 

“I wonder what train wreck kid Serket will throw to Prof next to torture her.”

On campus, there were two literature teachers. One of them, Professor Dolorosa, taught the class that John was in, and she was infamous for her high wit and domineering stance over students. Dolorosa’s classes focused on creative and strategic writing . 

The other professor, Professor Serket.. well, she was another story. This woman was domineering as well, yes. But she was also volatile, bitchy, and had some anger management issues. Her classes were centered around reading books and analyzing themes. The contrast in class topics proved very challenging for students being constantly moved around.

The two women had a fierce rivalry with each that had been rumored to have gone on for years. They fought over the intelligent students, bribed kids to pull childish pranks on the other, and Professor Serket’s favorite activity was to kick out bad students from her class and fork them over to Dolorosa’s. This had been Dave’s fate.

The whole situation was rather hilarious, and students always enjoyed bearing witness to the two’s more confrontational spars. Students were urged to take sides, and often times, when a traitor was scented in the one class, they would be brutally transferred to the class of their allegiance.

Ironically, each of the women had a daughter, whom very much so took after their strong, independent mothers. One, the previously mentioned Vriska Serket, and then Dolorosa’s daughter Kanaya Maryam. 

The two girls had struck up a similar rivalry to their mothers all throughout their schooling careers. They had attended the same high school, a high class, private school, and then moved on to the same college as well, both wishing to gain an education where their parents taught.

The current uproar between the Professors had been that Vriska was placed in Professor Dolorosa’s class in the last month, and Kanaya in Serkets, ever since the college mandated that a student may not be educated in a class taught by one of their own guardians. This naturally raised quite a hub bub, and both professors were entirely put out by the bleak situation they were placed in. 

How tragic.

“This project will be a breeze, I’ll do the poem shit.” Dave’s comment brings you back from your little tangle of thoughts. Thankfully, your mind was distracted enough to ease some of your nerves now. But not by much. 

You nod. “Alright. Once we figure out the device and stuff, I’ll get to writing..” The formality of this conversation was killing you. You weren’t used to this kind of strict, all business communication with him, and it irked you. It felt so wrong. 

Quickly sensing your unease, Dave opened his notebook and quickly scratched something down. He slid it over to you for you to read.

_Come over tomorrow afternoon. Can you text me tonight too?_

His scrawl is elegant, slick like his words. The most vulgar of phrases would look classy in that script. You gulp, your heart pounding, and you slide the notebook back. Looking up at him, you nod. He gives no response.

Just then, Dolorosa calls out that the class is dismissed, and the chorus of chairs screeching across the floor that resulted could be heard a mile away. Dave’s chair is one of the many. He gets up, and moves quickly past you to exit the room, leaving you there, nerve wracked.

Sometimes you wish you had glasses to hide behind too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naturally, Professor Dolorosa is Mama Dolorosa, and Professor Serket is Mindfang.
> 
> And they are strong independent women that don't need no man.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait everyone! For those of you who hadn't check my blog for updates, first I had been away visiting my girlfriend and was unable to update for a week, and then when I returned, I had no internet! The internet is back up and running now though, and updates should continue as normal. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

“It is a considerable surprise that I have not yet encountered hatchlings among your bulbous nest of hair.”

You wince in pain as the comb jerks through your hair. At this, the hands only tugged harder, causing you to whimper and your fingers to grip the chair desperately. You totally should have ditched the dorm the moment you heard Karkat was inviting her over to do the haircut you wanted.

“Honestly, have you ever pondered brushing your hair? Or perhaps applying conditioner to this natural disaster?” Rip, rip, rip. You swear she just tore out a huge chunk of your hair. You shoot a glare to your roommate, who is cracking up on his bed.

“Sweetheart, please inform me the length of time since your previous haircut.” Blushing a bit, you chuckle nervously, as if expecting a slap for what you are about to tell her. You gulp.

“Uh, well..” Shifting a little in your seat, you turn your head down, preparing for the disappointment. She runs her fingers through your hair roughly, expectant.

“A year or so, I uh, think..” Her hands freeze their movement and you can nearly feel the air of condescension emitting from the woman behind you. Even Karkat seemed to tense up a bit at this response. 

She said nothing. Suddenly, you are jerked off your seat by your shirt, and you squeak in surprise. Kanaya drags you by your shirt mercilessly out of the room and down the hall to the larger bathroom. You protest and flail and try desperately to get away from her iron grip, but it is a fruitless effort.

The dark haired woman sat you firmly down on the toilet seat and kneeled down to be at your eye level.

“Mister Egbert, do not resist the miracles I have been compelled to work on your hideous mop of hair. It is for your own good.” You only nod, lips tight. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Karkat peeking into the bathroom to see what terrible fate you have been subjected to.

Kanaya steps over to your shower, which has a deep, elongated tub, and a detachable shower head. Spying this, she pulls the shower head down and turns it on. Playing with the settings a bit, she rubbed her fingers under the water, feeling the different water pressures on her skin. 

As you watch her, you can’t help but admire her elegance. Even doing such a simple thing as adjusting a shower head, Kanaya held a certain pose and air about her that made it so one couldn’t help but have a respect for her.

Not to mention her looks, those certain boosted how people acted around her. With light, beautiful chocolate brown skin, stunning green eyes, her nearly black, perfectly styled hair.. And despite her wide, expressive hips, she held petite, intelligent features, both facially and otherwise. Her lack of bosom still could never detract from her beauty, you thought.

However, even with all of this, you couldn’t find it in yourself to ever consider her as a possible romantic interest. This was true with many other beautiful women you had been around. Even when you had contact with women that held highly compatible traits, you could never see them as anything more than good friends. You had always brushed this off and thought that you had just not found the one yet. You hadn’t found her. 

But now in this moment you can’t help comparing the way that you’ve connected to some of your closest woman friends, such as Miss Lalonde or Jade, and the way that you connect to Dave. Still, you refuse that such proof means that you swing for the same team. You still love poon a great deal, you assure yourself. Dave’s just.. special. 

Kanaya now rips you away from your thoughts with a spray of cold water flicked into your face. 

“Refrain from staring, if you don’t mind,” she said, a hint of irritation in her tone. Karkat snickered, and you saw a rare grin pull at his lips. Embarrassed, you mumble an apology.

“Splendid.” Kanaya stood fully up, and turned towards the door. “Presently, I must retrieve some products to treat your poor abused hair. Karkat, ensure the boy doesn’t flee.” The short male nodded grimly, side stepping into the bathroom as Kanaya strode out.

When she was gone, you looked up at Karkat as he walked over pleadingly, pathetically. Instead of mercy, he started cracking up on amusement.

“Oh my fucking god, she is going to murder you for your hair, Egbert,” he said, chortling and snorting. You look down, sulking.

“I know,” you respond, deflated. Your hair had not been cut for over a year. Hell, when you got your hair wet, your bangs would fall halfway down your face at this point. Thank god that your hair tended to muss upwards and so it wasn’t too noticeable. The same could not be said for the rat’s nest which this formed.

Karkat tentatively leaned closer to you, to which you raised a brow. Then, however, he gently placed his hands to your hair, starting to stroke it. You tensed up slightly, but as his deft hands worked their way softly through your knotted hair, your body relaxed into his touch. His hands were much kinder than Kanaya’s had been.

Neither of you spoke as he worked on your raven hair, running his fingers through and tenderly rubbing at your scalp. It felt nice.

“I’m taking a couple hair classes on the side,” he explained quietly as he worked. “That’s why I had Kanaya come over.” You nod. Well that explained quite a bit. 

Lately Karkat had changed how he did his hairstyle, instead of just messy and shaggy, he was starting to part it, or at least style the bangs in a more refined manner. At first, you thought he might just be making this change for a special lady or something, but as time went by, it became more evident he wasn’t hounding after anyone.

It was nice, you thought, that he was getting to know Kanaya and most likely, some of the other people in those classes. Your roommate didn’t really have much of a chance for social interaction in his major, which was journalism. The snobby, hipster, and generally uninviting students that he had to learn alongside with, he loathed. You were glad your friend was broadening his classes a bit, as you weren’t quite sure he even enjoyed journalism too much.

Soon enough, with kind, not rough hands, most of the tangles in your hair were worked out, thanks to Karkat. By now you were pretty comfortable with his touch, which you’d never felt before. It was not unwelcome though; friends let other friends touch their hair.

Kanaya, on the other hand, was a hair nazi and there was no choice in the matter.

Speaking of the devil, soon after, while Karkat’s hands were still buried into the black hair, said hair nazi stepped into the bathroom, arms full of a multitude of hair products. Both of your heads whipped towards her. She raised a brow.

“Alright fellows, cease your intimate little hair love fest,” she said teasingly, ruffling Karkat’s hair and tossing him a wink. He flushed bright red and immediately tore his hands away, glaring at the ground. You give Kanaya a confused look, a bit ignorant to her comment. She just rolls her eyes at you.

She bumps Karkat out of the way with her hips, smiling devilishly and pressing her own hands to your hair. Roughly tugging through it, she pulls out the last few tangles and bunches, running her nimble fingers into the locks again and again. 

Finally satisfied, she pulls out a small sack, out of it pulling a folding stool. Setting it up in front of the shower, you’re pulled again by your shirt over to the seat and are set down. 

She adjusts you to lean back by your shoulders, head over the tub, and she grabs the shower head.

Wrapping a towel around your shoulders and beginning to wet your hair, she snaps to your roommate, who nods and rummages through the bottles before selecting one. Kanaya squirts a reasonable amount of its contents into her hands and begins to work it through your hair. Her touch is softer now, as she works her ‘miracles’ on the hopeless head of hair.

After two kinds of shampoos, conditioner, and half a bottle of hair detangler later, you sit on the stool, thoroughly damp, and anxiously await Kanaya whom is currently cleaning her hair scissors. Moving to you, she starts in the back, not even asking what you want your hair to look like.

The amount of hair she’s snipping frightens you, and you look towards Karkat for reassurance, who’s sitting on the toilet watching intently. He nods a little and you sigh a bit.

“Relax, silly child, I am the master of my craft,” she cooes as her scissors snip of yet another long lock of hair.

“She really is,” Karkat offers supportively, shrugging slightly. Soon, it appears that she is done cutting off hair from the back and moves to the front. Pulling the bangs to the front, the length causing Kanaya to cringe, she parts it to the right and gets to work.

After bangs, she blow dries the hair off in a certain way you can’t comprehend and begins something she calls ‘texturing.’ She feathers your bangs in their individual pieces, and appears to style up the back. 

Karkat hands her a tin and you look at it suspiciously. “Styling wax,” she explains, and you tense up. You do not want girl products in your hair. You do not have a choice.

Finally, she finishes, and ushers you to the mirror. You gasp.

Your hair looks tame for once, stylish bangs across your face in feathered pieces, parts of the back spiked out in a handsome, charming manner. The peaks in your hair accent your face and work well with your square rimmed glasses, and pulls the whole look together. You look rather dashing, you think. Karkat nods in approval.

“You love it,” Kanaya comments, and you offer her a toothy smile of thanks and hug her tight, which she carefully and daintily returns.

Now she turned to Karkat and handed him a couple bottles and a spray. “Make damn positive the boy utilizes these, in correct order, otherwise it will fly to hell,” she said sweetly with a smile of warning. He nods and takes the products. You shift nervously.

On that note, she compacts her stool, gathers her materials, and nods curtly.

“The pair of you shall clean the mess.” And with that, she slipped out. Karkat patted you on the shoulder and inspected your hair. He looked pleased.

“Hm. Looks.. good,” he muttered, tousling a couple of the spikes. He placed the bottles of product in order in the shower. You’d have to remember what way you use those.

“I’ll pay for the cut, you clean up.” You frown at him and stop him before he walks out.

“No, Karkat, don’t pay for this for me-“

“I want to.” 

You hold his gaze, his eyes serious and unchanging. Sighing in defeat, you nod and he departs. Now it’s up to you to clean up the mess. Fun.

 

Some hours later, after the mounds of black hair are finally all vacuumed and swept from existence and you’ve spent all too much time fretting over the upcoming afternoon events, you stand in your bathroom, gazing anxiously into the mirror.

You must’ve changed around five times, and it’s a damn good thing that Karkat had classes for the rest of the day, or else he might’ve suspected something. You swear you’ve never felt so nervous in your whole life.

You finally think you have it. After much debate with yourself, you decided to put on a simple blue tee, one that is tight to your body, over it a white button up and some blue jeans. 

Looking at your appearance, with the new haircut and the outfit, you approve. It’s casual, but you look rather slick. Rose would most likely call it simply cute or petty, but never mind her. You think you look damn good.

However, your renewed faith in your looks does not aid the churning in your stomach. Going back to your room, you casually lay back on your bed trying to settle the pit. Dave should be here any minute.

Slipping your phone out of your pocket, you unlock it and pull up your inbox. Scrolling to the top of your messages, you begin to reread for about the millionth time. 

Last night you had tried to pace the time between getting home from class and texting him, but after only about an hour or so you caved and decided it was ‘tonight’ already. In actuality it was only around four thirty. In any case, the time waiting for the blonde to respond to your message had to have been the longest wait of your entire life. Or at least it felt like it. In actuality this had been only around two minutes. Two minutes, more like two hours.

After a bit of useless small talk to get gut wrenching formalities out of the way, Dave had quickly dove into what he wanted to say. The two of you needed to talk. Immediately, quote the Strider. He proposed that he would pick you up around three and the two of you could hang at his place. This sounded all fine and dandy to you, so you willingly agreed.

The thing that really jerked your chain from the conversation, not entirely in a bad way though, was just one little text message. Just seven little words.

_i miss you so fucking bad john_

Your heart nearly stopped when you received that message. It may seem like something small and unimportant, but it was so much more. Especially coming from Dave. Not once in their entire friendship had he ever told you he missed you. Not a single time. Striders don’t say things like that. It’s just not up to par to do such a thing.

Not only that but he had sent it in the middle of a conversation. Interrupting smooth convo flow as if it were urgent. As if it was desperate. Also the fact that he used your name. Dave called you John. Not bro, not dude, not even Egbert. John. It was like a Christmas miracle or some shit.

Needless to say, you were ashamed to admit that you had spent a shameful amount of hours pondering and analyzing that one text message. Was this some way of expressing a need for you? Was he reciprocating feelings? Secretly you hoped so, though from the front you still denied said feelings existed, an increasingly blatant lie. The way your heart fluttered when you just even read that that message again gave it away. How uncool and lame of you.

While you’re thinking and rethinking about all of this, the sudden buzz of your dorm bell startles you, and you immediately scramble up to get to the door. Just to check, you press the red button on the voice box to activate the microphone.

“Who’s this?”

“Your smooth ride, Egbert.”

His voice is smooth and alluring even through a fuzzy speaker. Your heart rate picks up both from hearing him, and from intense nerves. 

“Coming.”

You open your dorm door and quickly lock it with your key behind you. You don’t bother with the elevator since your dorm is only a few floors up, and instead book it down the stairs. When you reach the ground floor, you’re panting a bit, cheeks pink from running, (you nearly tripped at the bottom) and you barely notice Dave leaning against the wall next to the flight of stairs.

“I knew you weren’t going to take the elevator. Crazy dumbass.” 

His voice is lighthearted, though as you straighten up you chuckle nervously, obviously uneasy already. You decide his voice sounds even better still in person. He just snorts a little and motions you to follow out to his car. You’re kinda glad for his casual demeanor right now.

But the first thing you realize is that you can’t quit staring at him. Even if you try, you can’t allow yourself to pull your gaze from looking him up and down for more than a few moments. And all he’s even wearing is a loose white tank top with a red hoodie and a denim jacket popped over the top. It’s not like he’s garbed in stripper clothes for Pete’s sake.

Though his skinny jeans aren’t helping. 

Okay, basically he just looks really attractive in anything he wears.

You hop in shotgun in his banged up red Nissan convertible. The old car was passed down from his brother when he had to go to college, though you could tell just by its looks that it wasn’t much of an inheritance. It was a miracle the car still ran. 

But it did. And it actually ran pretty well. Must’ve been the ‘Strider magic’ that Dave always claimed his bro worked on the piece of junk. 

As you two cruise leisurely down the road neither of you speak, which is fine by you. You don’t think you could utter a sound at this point, your body all tensed up and unable to relax, and your hands are nearly quivering with anticipation and nerves. You try to focus on the fast paced rap music Dave is blaring from his custom speakers installed into the car as opposed to the frantic thoughts running through your head.

“Yo, droppin past BK for some shitty burgers, wanna grab something?” His voice is still relaxed and casual. Is he really not nervous as hell right now, or has he just mastered hiding everything?

You assume the later from this ninja asshole.

“Sure thing,” you manage to get out, though your tone isn’t quite so smooth. “I could go for a burger.”

He nods and soon makes a turn, pulling into the drive-through. He pulls out of the drive-through five minutes later handing you a big, steamy Burger King bag filled up with greasy, delicious fattening shit.

“Smells like heaven,” he comments wistfully and you chortle a bit and nod, about to open the bag and start to eat. 

“Woah woah, hold up, paws off!” The bag is torn from you almost as soon as it was given. “We stuff our piggy faces when we reach my crib, Egbert,” he scolds, cradling the bag to his body like one would a precious baby, driving with the other hand.

You pout the most pathetic pout you can possibly manage. “But Daaaaaaaaave,” you whine at him, furrowing your brow. His face remains stoic but for the slightest moment you see the corner of his mouth twitch up. Though he quickly corrects himself.

“Sorry, no can do bro.” You huff and sit back in your seat, defeated. For a moment there, things had seemed almost normal. If things were normal, Dave would’ve broke out into a smile instead.

Soon enough, he pulls into the parking lot of his dorm building, and the both of you hop out and silently walk towards the door. He makes for the elevator, and you follow quietly. 

The air between you two in the small enclosed elevator is sufficiently awkward. 

The doors finally slide open at the top floor and the two of you walk over to his dorm door. As Dave fumbles with his keys, you stare at the ground in front of the door. The memory of that night, your broken state sitting there, hits you like a train. How pathetic you were. God, you were such an asshole. You stiffen in your place.

Dave flicks his eyes towards you, completely aware of your reaction to being back here, but of course you can’t see this behind his glasses. He turns the key and opens the door, stepping in and placing a hand on your arm to pull you in, as you are a bit frozen in place. His touch causes you to tense up even more than before.

You follow him to the couch where he sat, plopping the bag of fast food onto the coffee table. Sitting with your back straight, eyes placed anywhere but on Dave, you take a deep breath.

“Chill the fuck out John.” 

Your head snaps to look at him and you cower slightly at the statement. He sighs and grabs a burger, leaning back and starting to unwrap it.

“Seriously. Grab a damn burger and relax. You’re here to talk, not to act like I’m going to bite you if you say anything.”

You nod slowly and reach into the bag, pulling out one of the burgers. Upon unwrapping it, you find a bacon quarter pounder. Score. You lean back and take a bite, the sound of both of you chewing filling the room.

“I’m sorry Dave,” you finally say, though your voice is shaky as hell. Dave frowns and shakes his head.

“You were drunk.”

Blushing, you look down, hands curling up into fists. So Dave didn’t think you actually felt anything... He thought you just did it because you were drunk. He couldn’t be more wrong.

“Well uh..” You gulp nervously, twiddling your thumbs to distract you. “The alcohol may have just uh, allowed me to well, do things that maybe I had… wanted to..”

Dave stopped in his tracks of chowing down his second burger. It’s obvious he was desperately trying to keep his cool, but it was also making it desperately hard for you to tell how good or bad his reaction was. After a moment or so he takes a deep breath, as if bringing himself back to his normal state.

“Egbert.. are you gay?” He sounds like an uneasy father asking his son about his sexuality after catching him kiss his little friend. Your face gets redder.

“No! Well, uh, I mean, urgh!” You fumble with your words, having been confronted with the question you’ve been asking yourself, as well as denying vehemently over the past few weeks. Dave looks at you expectantly, though patiently waiting for you.

You scramble to collect yourself. “Ugh, I don’t know.. Maybe for you or some shit..” You look back down at your lap, your brow furrowed deeply in frustration, mostly at yourself. 

Dave is quiet, which unsettles you even more.

After many more tense moments of no response, you look up at him, frowning deeply. “Why where you so upset I kissed you? Aren’t you into guys?” This time your voice is stronger, more demanding than curious.

Dave snorted. “Well you know, being randomly fucking kissed by the guy who broke your heart telling you he’s straight and could never be into you is a bit damn upsetting.” You flinch at his harsh retort, having never pondered this.

You’re about to open your mouth to speak again, but he holds a hand up to stop you before you can say a word. Before the blonde said anymore, however, he reached to take a huge bite of his burger first. Typical Dave.

“Kid, I spent months trying to get the hell over you. Shit is harder than getting over my first turntables breaking. And those things were sick.” He chuckles a bit, as if reminiscing the undoubtly painful childhood memory. “And that shit was hard.” You sit quietly watching, not knowing what to say. Guilt washes over you.

Dave finished off his burger and hopped off the couch to go to the kitchen. He popped open the fridge and grabbed a couple cans of Coke, (rum free) humming a little tune. 

Cracking one and tossing you the other, he takes a gulp. Squeaking a little and diving forward to reach said can of pop, you only barely catch it, smiling sheepishly up at Dave. He smiles just a little bit.

“Long story short, warn me before getting your mack on.” Embarrassed, you nod, cracking your can of soda and taking a sip. Dave joins you on the couch and you grab a pack of fries, eating them ravenously. You’re not sure if it’s the nerves or actual hunger, but you really are hankering for this fast food.

“So John, tell me now,” Dave started to say, watching you closely and capturing your full attention. “Do you honestly like me, or no? I don’t want to be tugged around here.” 

You frown deeply and rub the back of your neck, pondering what you should say. Of course you like him, you like him a whole lot, more than you’ve ever felt for anyone. 

Finally you just nod. “Yeah.. I meant it, I do.. it’s just really, uh.. different. I mean it doesn’t feel different, it feels right and all, it just when I think about it, it’s different than anything I’ve ever thought.” Dave nodded, leaning back on the couch again, the springs creaking from his weight.

“Never thought you’d dig someone with a man package, eh Egbert?” You grin a little at the way he phrased it, taking another slug of coke and sighing softly.

“I guess not,” you reply, voice a little bit weary, though not entirely regretful. You guess you never really had pondered the idea that you might have a thing for dudes, at least not since that night with Dave. Even now though, you don’t think you’re into guys in general, you can’t see that. You just really quite fancy your ironic bro not so ironically.

“Hey John?” Dave asks, his voice a bit softer, quieter than before, and you turn to look at him. “I’m not just some guy you’re using to explore your peaking sexuality.. right?” Even with his glasses still in place, it’s evident how vulnerable a question this is for him, you can tell just in his tone. The guy even shifts uncomfortably in his place, something Dave Strider never does, even under pressure.

You blink, surprised by his question. “Of course not!’ you exclaim, eyes a little wide in surprise. Dave only fiddles with his fingers, clearly unsure. 

“You mean so much more to me than something like that.” Dave freezes, and a little ‘ping’ is heard from his fingers gripping at the soda can and the aluminum denting under the pressure.

You hold your breath for a reaction, and apparently Dave did too. After a moment of what must’ve been an initial shock or surprise you assumed, as it was a well hidden one at that, he let go a heavy breath. Running a hand through his hair, he sits up slightly, leaning on his knees with his elbows, gaze on the floor. You watch intently, still waiting.

“I never quite got over you, Egbert.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you hope he doesn’t notice. Naturally, he does. Damn Strider notices everything. He turns his head towards you and you know his eyes are right on yours, you can feel it.

“I had never heard you cry so hard as you had that night outside my door.” You immediately tense up, unable to respond. You feel so embarrassed, especially now that he mentions it, and you choke a bit at the memory, stifling a breath. You can feel your cheeks go pink.

“I-I’m sorry,” you manage to mumble, hanging your head down, unable to look at him. It was downright cruel to have put him through all of that, and then make him listen to you tears. You feel it would be hard to loathe yourself anymore at this point in time.

“Shh, shh, hey man, it’s okay,” he says softly, leaning down close to you, a weak smile on his face. You try your hardest to man up and look at him, but you just cannot bring yourself to. You feel the need to hide your eyes from him. With a sigh, Dave eventually just takes your chin between his fingers and jerks your head up to face him.

And then he slips his glasses down his nose so you can see his eyes. You stare, stunned yet again by them. They look slightly less afraid today, you note. 

“I just never want you to have to cry like that again. Okay, John?” Soaking in his words, you nod slowly, agreeing. 

“Y-yeah,” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. He smiles a bit at that, which causes you to do the same.

“Hey uh.. Egbert?" You look at him questioningly, and at the look in his eyes, heart must’ve stopped. You swear you can feel him leaning in closer and feel his breath on your lips as he speaks. Is he seriously going to do it? You feel quite faint. "I know we both probably taste like fast food right now and all, but..”

“I think I want to try that kissing thing again.” After taking a moment to really register this, you nod quickly, hands curling into fists with anticipation. Dave chuckles and tips his head slightly, a bit nervous himself. 

After a moment of hesitation, he kisses you, capturing your lips, and you grip at the rough fabric on the couch. His lips are soft and moving slowly against yours, which you reciprocate, pressing back against him. After a bit he pulls away, and you look at him, in a daze. Grinning big, like you’ve never seen him grin before, Dave lets out a small, blissful sigh.

Unable to help it, you take a deep breath before taking his face in your hands, kissing him again. You kissed a boy, and you liked it.

That night you spend at the Stider’s humble abode.


	4. Chapter 4

The sheets tangle around your feet as you roll over on the mattress, still hugging the pillow to your head with your arm beneath it. Halfway through the night you had kicked them off in your sleep because it was just too hot in this damn dorm room.

Drowsiness is wearing off, and you feel that need to get up, but you’re just too lethargic to. Instead, trying to muffle the urge to get off your ass and move about, you stretch out wide and long, arms extending, and then snap back into a curled up position. You don’t want to move or do anything at all.

Eventually, your restlessness eats at you to the point where it is simply unbearable, and you groan loudly, practically whining as you wiggle to the edge of the bed. You feel so lazy you wish you could just roll off onto the floor. Instead, you force yourself to sit up, furrowing your brows at having to make such an effort. When you finally are off the bed and standing up, you feel a little bit less restless and just a little more sleepy. Your morning routine of waking up sucks so bad.

“You are the most entertaining kid to watch wake up, Egbert.”

You jump in surprise at the voice, a small jolt of adrenaline shooting through you, and you whip back around to the bed to face where the voice came from. Dave grins up at you, lounging lazily on the bed with his laptop resting on his knees. You huff.

“Jumpy in the morning, are we?” Glaring at him, you promptly flop onto the bed again, crawling over to the blonde and sitting up next to him, propping up some pillows behind you. You can’t believe in all your rolling about trying to wake up that you didn’t notice him, even on the queen sized mattress. You do tend to move a lot in your sleep. 

“Can it, jackass,” you grumble, glancing at his computer screen. Tumblr is on Chrome, all the pictures and things he’s scrolling through just a bunch of music crap, weapons, and shitty comic fan arts. Gosh this kid was weird. You didn’t even know how to use that stupid blogging site. 

Once upon a time you had created one, but it was just really confusing, what with the urls, reblogging and all that following shenanigans. Why would you want to ‘follow’ someone on the internet? It seemed mad creepy. Even when Dave offered to help you understand it and ‘trick out your blog with some sick shit,’ you promptly turned him down. You wanted no part in this strange and confusing website.

After a minute or two, Dave closed his laptop and set it on the floor, leaning back into the bed next to you instead. You look at him, a bit confused as to why he stopped in mid-blogging. Dave never stopped in mid blogging. He cautiously wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. You had no objections.

“You didn’t have to get offline you know,” you comment, reaching up to play with his hair. Dave shook his head.

“Nah man, this cute little dipshit right here is more entertaining,” he teases, poking at your cheek, to which you grumble. You are not cute, dammit, you are a handsome, dashing young man.

For a little bit, the two of you just lie there, cuddling contently, quiet except for the occasional blissed sigh or little noise. It’s like on Sims 3 or some shit when two sims cuddle on their bed by laying there holding hands over each other and mumbling creepy Simanese nothings into each other’s ears. Except you like to think this is less weird and more cute.

“So what made you finally cut down that ridiculous bird’s nest you used to possess on your head?” Dave asks, ruffling your hair with a grin. 

You snort. “Karkat let Kanaya loose on me yesterday dude. It was awful.” The blonde paused, looking at you, before cracking up uncontrollably. 

“Oh my god, you poor little bastard!” He smiled right at you, sincerely, and you knew he eyes were on yours. Fuck, you just melted when he smiled like that. What a rare sight. “But it looks rather smashing, if I say so myself bro.” You smile weakly and nod.

“What can I say? Miss Maryam is crazy, but she knows her stuff with hair!” Dave nodded in agreement. Pulling his arm away from you, much to your own discontent, he moves as if to get up, and you pout. 

“Now. How does some class A badass pancakes sound?” The pout immediately vanishes, and your face lights up. You hop off the bed in excitement. Dave makes the best pancakes ever, and usually you have to beg for him to make them for you. He makes them from scratch and everything, none of that box crap.

The two of you move to the kitchen, and you slide onto a stool behind the island counter as Dave opens a couple cupboards. You watch him as he pulls out flour, sugar, the works. This time you’re going to memorize the recipe from watching him so that you can attempt to bake massacre your own pancakes. Maybe if they’re good enough, you could even serve some to Karkat and have a nice breakfast with him.

Dave expertly measured out his ingredients, laying them all out on the counter in front of you. You count, two cups of flour, three tablespoons of baking powder, a fourth a cup of milk.. Soon you realize it will be difficult for you to remember all of this in your head for any extended period of time.

“I was thinking apple cinnamon, that sound good kid?” he asks offhandedly, pulling two mixing bowls from the cupboard. You like your lips and nod, watching as he mixes the dry ingredients in a bowl. Putting together the wet ingredients, he then starts to mix in the dry.

“Well then hop to it bro. Help me out.” Snickering a bit, you nod and slip off the stool, walking around the counter and meandering to the fridge. You pull out a couple apples and grab the tiny plastic cutting board Dave own, setting both on the counter. Finished with the batter, the blonde sets it aside and opens a drawer, grabbing a peeler and snagging the apples. 

“Grab a knife, there’s a few hanging on the wall.” Sure enough, on the wall over the stove, there are a variety of knives. You grab a medium sized one, and when you’re back at the cutting board, Dave tosses you a shoddily peeled apple.

With both of you working, soon enough the apples are all cut into thin slices and Dave has a cinnamon sugar mix all fired up. He starts heating a pan slides the bowl of cinnamon sugar over to you. 

When you think he’s not looking, in between your apple coating, you sneak a few of the slices for yourself, eating more than enough. Of course Dave noticed since the very first stolen apple piece, but he didn’t scold you until your seventh one.

“Quite eating the damn apples, you little food whore,” he scolds, punching you lightly in the arm. You grin sheepishly, and offer him the finished apple slices in apology. Sighing, he takes them, though you do catch a little smile playing on his lips.

Pouring batter in the pan, Dave expertly spread the mixture evenly by turning the pan in a circular motion. Then, as he’s about to spread the apples, he hunches over the pan, obscuring the pancake from your view. 

When he’s done, he backs away, and displays the pan to you with a flourish of his hand. “Check it out John,” he says, snickering. You give him a skeptical look, but then peer over at the pancake. 

“Oh my fucking god Dave.” There, on the pancake, six of so apple slices are perfectly arranged in the shape of a penis. Just like the childish badly drawn penises that immature high schoolers draw on locker room walls and girl’s binders to piss them off.

Both of you simultaneously burst into laughter, snickering and chortling uncontrollably.

“That’s your pancake John!”

“Sure, cause I just love dick, don’t I?”

“That’s right, asshole.”

“FUCK YOU!”

Between your banter and the laughing, both of you are finding it a bit difficult to breath from all the commotion. Dave finally musters up enough maturity to face the penis pancake without having a fit of giggles, and flips it over, the cooked side perfectly golden brown.

“You are so immature.”

“You are so gay for me.” 

You huff, shoving him a little, your cheeks turning red. You know it’s true, but it’s going to take quite a bit of getting used to, having it stated so bluntly. You’re incredibly happy that Dave isn’t angry with you, and that he’s comfortable with you like this. 

Just being with him in such a manner, hanging out, having little intimate moments, like cuddling in bed, or when you two watched movies together on the couch last night; it’s what you’ve been daydreaming about over the past few weeks, whether you would admit it or not.

But it’s still proving difficult for you to grow accustomed to. You can’t help but feel you may not be nearly as comfortable with all of this outside of is dorm, even. What even are you two at this point? Are you boyfriends? Friends who kiss and cuddle? You don’t know, and you don’t know what you want to be with him. The idea of having a boyfriend is so awfully foreign. It feels like you’re just not ready for any publicity yet. You’re scared.

Dave must have noticed your uncomfortability, because he softened a little, moving closer. “Sorry,” he apologized, voice quiet. “That wasn’t okay, I’m sorry.” You look at him, shaking your head and smiling a little.

“Nah.. It’s just gonna take some getting used to, y’know?” He nods, watching you carefully. You gulp. “Hearing well.. the truth.” You chuckle nervously, rubbing the back of your neck. Dave is quiet for a moment, but then pulls you into a hug. You’re a bit surprised by his forwardness with such affection, but you gratefully hug him back. 

“I’ll try not to lay it on you so much, alright?” You nod, and mutter thanks, pressing your face into his neck and breathing his scent in. He smells good, like cinnamon and his cologne. You recognize the scent, from where, you’re not quite sure though.

“Old Spice bro,” Dave comments, as if he could sense you catching a whiff of him. Sniff sniff. Oh yup. Old Spice. Suddenly Dave’s smell seems a little creepy, as you remember where your memory of that scent comes from. You inhale again just to make sure that Dave doesn’t use barbasol. 

“Ok, you really need to step off, hound boy,” he says teasingly, pulling you back a little. You chuckle sheepishly.

“It’s a good thing you don’t use barbasol or anything, Strider,” you comment as he flips the first pancake out of the pan and onto a plate. 

“Hm? Why man?” He pours out another ladle of batter into the hot pan. 

“My dad used Old Spice. It would make this sufficiently creepy if you smelled like his aftershave too,” you explain, smirking a little. Dave cracks up a little, smiling.

“Wouldn’t want you thinking of your old man while we get our mack on, eh?”

“Oh gosh no!”

“John, come here and give daddy a kiss.” Dave grinned devilishly and leaned in as if to kiss you.

“Dave you fucking stop that right now,” you say, backing up a little, squeamishly.

“Don’t you love your daddy, John? Pucker up, son.”

“Quit it Dave!” you squeal right before he plants a kiss on your lips, and all you can smell is his Old Spice.

Kissing back though blushing furiously when he pulls away, you punch him in the arm as he laughs.

“One day I’m going to put on aftershave before you come over just to creep you out.”

“I swear to fucking god Dave, I will kill you,” you growl, glowering at him, much to his amusement. Crossing your arms in defiance and leaning against the counter, you watch Dave as he snorts and waves you off, going to back to his pancakes.

After what seems like much too long a wait, Dave presents you with what has to be the most beautiful plate of pancakes you have ever seen in your whole damn life. Stacked three cakes high, a puddle of syrup on the side and steaming with whipped cream on the top- you nearly are drooling at the sight.

Snatching the plate from him and grabbing a fork hastily from the silverware drawer, you rush to the couch and plop down. Carefully and delicately, trying not to ruin the perfect plate, you set it down on the coffee table while you position yourself in a suitable manner. Finally you decide on indian style sitting, so that you can lean back into the couch for comfort, and oh so carefully you place your plate balanced on your legs.

Just when you’re about to cut into your first bite, Dave carelessly throws himself onto the couch, nearly making you tip over with your stack of pancakes from how hard he bounced on the springs.

“Dave!” you exclaimed irritably, scowling at him as he slouches back on the couch, cutting a humongous bite and shoving it in his mouth. 

“..Damn you sure can fit a lot in your mouth,” you commented, amazing by the triple stack super bite that Strider had rammed into his pie hole. Calmly and coolly, Dave finished his bite, turning to you and grinning suggestively.

“You bet I can, Egbert,” he cooed, almost in a seductive seeming manner, and you turn red. What an asshole. Shaking your head in disappointment you turn to your pancakes, finally taking a bite. They are fucking delicious, as expected. 

Dave is finished with his whole giant stack in about four minutes flat, no surprise, but by then you’re barely halfway through yours! You wonder how the guy can possibly eat so much and remain so impossibly lanky.

When you’ve got about a quarter of your stack left, you feel so full you couldn’t take another bite if you wanted to. Which you want to desperately. Instead, you restrain yourself, sliding back into the couch and groaning, completely stuffed.

“Gonna eat that, wimp?” Dave asked, egging at you a little.

You snort as if he had just told you a preposterous joke. “Have at it, douchebag,” you grumble, shoving him the plate. 

With a little grin of victory he graciously takes the plate, and then not so graciously shoves a boatload of pancake into his mouth. You roll your eyes.

You sit for a moment there on the couch, just resting a bit, letting your food settle in your stomach, and having a moment of quiet. Well, quiet for all except Dave’s loud chomping of the remainder of your pancakes. You watch him, amused and intrigued by how haphazardly and quickly he eats, as if this meal might be the last one he gets.

When he finishes finally, he lets out a content sigh, and before he can even move to gather the plates, you do it for him, picking them all up and going into the kitchen.

“I wash, you rinse,” you say firmly when he gives you a disgruntled look. It’s kinda obvious he just wants to do everything for his guest.

“Fine, fine, Egbert. Just hop on over to my room when s’all squeaky clean, I’ll give you some shit to wear.” He disappears from the living room before you can even get in a word, so  
you shrug and go back to your dishes, turning the water on.

Why would you need to borrow clothes? It’s not like either of you really had to go anywhere, you thought. You puzzled over this while scrubbing at your plate before it hits you.

“Classes!” you squeak, dropping the dish in the sink. Immediately you check your watch, eyes widening in panic.

“Dave! Dave!” you call out desperately, rushing to his room and bursting through the door. The blonde jumps at your sudden entrance, standing in his room in nothing but his boxers, which are a little big and sliding down his hips. You turn red and look away quickly.

“Woah man, that eager to see the Strider goods? Can a bro get some privacy around here?” Dave chuckles, grabbing a pair of jeans and shimmying in them.

You shuffle awkwardly outside his door, looking to the floor. “We’re gonna be late to classes, Dave!”

He chortles a little. “Yeah, so?” Crossing your arms, you glare at him.

“Unlike you, I have a reputation to keep with my teachers.” Dave’s only response is to grab you by the arm and tug you into his room, closing the door behind you. He then moves to his dresser, rummaging through it.

“Alright, let’s get you some sick threads.” In a moment there are multiple articles of clothing being thrown at you, which you flail to catch. Blue jeans, a white tee, zip up red hoodie, and boxers?

“Woah, hold on, what the hell are the boxers for?” you ask, appalled at the white boxers which appear to be garbed in music notes.

“To cover your junk? The ones you’re wearing are probably dirty bro, maintain some hygiene.” You shoot him a questioning look, not quite trusting his boxers.

He sighs a little and pulls on a t shirt over his long sleeve. “Come on, they’re clean. Freshly washed bro. It’s not like I was jerkin with them or anything, kid.”

“Fine. But turn around while I’m changing,” you say, frowning a bit. Dave nods in agreement and turns around, facing his dresser. Only then do you sigh a little and slip off your own boxers, quickly pulling on his. They were surprisingly comfy, soft cotton. You pull off your shirt from yesterday.

“Kay, you can look now,” you say, quickly changing into the tee he gave you before he whips around. There’s a small disappointed pout on his lips that he didn’t catch you shirtless in time, but it quickly fades to his trademark poker face.

You pull on the hoodie, zipping it up most of the way. Then, grabbing the jeans, you begin to pull them on, only to find, much to your dismay, that they are skinny jeans. Grunting in irritation, you don’t bother to ask for another pair, and instead, in determination, set about wiggling into them.

Finally you get them all the way on and zip up the fly, trying to get used to them. God these things strain your crotch like a bitch.

“Your ass looks great in those, Egbert,” you hear Dave comment from behind you, and immediately you spin around, hiding your ass, brow furrowed and cheeks hot.

“Shut up, Dave,” you growl, shoving him a little. He laughs and pecks you on the cheek, walking out of his room. You follow, embarrassed, and Dave grabs his keys from the counter, shoving a couple pens in his pocket. He offers you on and you snag it from his hand, only making him chuckle.

The two of you make your way to the elevator, riding down. This time the elevator ride is slightly less awkward than the one from yesterday. Slightly.

When you get to the car, you’re about to open the door and climb in when Dave immediately rushes around the vehicle to reach your door before you, opening it up and holding out a hander to usher you in like some sort of chauffer. You give him a sheepish smile and slide into the car, and he shuts the door behind you.

Once he’s buckled in himself, you grin a little at him. “Trying to be a gentleman Strider?” you ask teasingly, nudging him as he starts the car. He shrugs, smiling a little himself.

“Just for my little John, man,” he replies casually, pulling out of the parking lot. You nod a bit, leaning back, quiet.

His little John. What did he mean by that? What were they? All these questions you had been ignoring all morning, just wanting to enjoy your time with Dave. But it was really kind of bugging you. You felt like you might mess something up though if you asked.

However, Dave decided it was a lovely moment to just pop an opportunity for the topic in, not giving you a choice. “I’m sorry, was that too much?”

His voice was quiet, worried. As if he really didn’t want to fuck anything up with you. You shook your head, smiling weakly.

“No, no, it wasn’t, don’t worry,” you say quickly, as if trying to make up for the awkward silence you caused with your thoughts. You wonder what he had been thinking. Based on his words, he was probably having something of a mini freak out. Suddenly guilt washes over you. You really have to be more considerate of these things, you’re far too oblivious.

He doesn’t say anymore, most likely assuming you want peace and quiet. You don’t want peace and quiet at all. 

“Dave.. what are we?” You tense up as soon as the words are out of your mouth, mind racing as you wait for his response. His response doesn’t come. You gulp a little, praying that wasn’t an unacceptable question.

“Or uh, rather.. what do you want us to be?” You hear a soft, quiet sigh coming from the driving blonde, who still hadn’t moved his eyes from the road for a moment.

“You want an honest answer, kid?” You nod quickly, watching him. He sucked in a breath. “Honestly., boyfriends would be nice, John.” Your heart is in your throat. Your emotions are caught in between bounds of joy and a deep sinking feeling in your chest.

It’s wonderful, amazing to you that he wants to be your boyfriend, and you want to be his, you’ve decided. You truly do. You’ve come to terms with this over the past few weeks. 

But you still can’t quite come to terms with the idea of being boyfriends, well.. outside of the dorm room. 

The idea of it quite frankly terrifies you.

“Too much, huh? I know you’re not ready, I guess.”

“No I am.” You say this firmly, but the slight shakiness of your voice is unmistakable. Dave runs his fingers through his hair tensely. 

“Do you mean that, or are you pitying me?” The shift to a demanding tone in Dave’s voice makes you flinch, and it hits you how much you really affect Dave. How much what everything you do, every choice you make, determines a huge part of his state.

“I.. I want to be your boyfriend, Dave,” you murmur under your breath, hands rubbing in your lap. 

You feel like your fingers can’t stop shaking, tensing up, and you desperately wish to give them something to do. For now, tangling them in each other with have to suffice to ease the nerves. Dave pulls into a parking spot in the history wing of the university. 

He parks and shuts the car off, turning to face you. You shy a little, nervous of what he’s going to say or do.

“Ease up, dude,” he murmurs softly, and he reaches out to touch your face. Pulling your head in close, he kisses you deeply, and you tip your head for better access, kissing him back. Your lips fit together like a lock and key, you note.

When he pulls away, he gives you one last little peck and then ruffles your hair.

“Better get to class, boyfriend,” he says cheerily, smiling big at you. You smile back, wide and toothy, and get out of the car reluctantly, not wanting to leave. As he pulls out you wave, and he blows you a totally ironic air kiss, throwing it out with his hand outstretched like some kind of shoujo anime bishie.

When the car is out of sight, only then to you turn around and make for the building, sighing a little. You miss him too much already. As for the boyfriend thing- well, it’s not like either of you planned to broadcast it to the world.

You hoped.

When you got inside, you went flying down the halls to be able to get to your classroom. You were already a good thirty minutes late, and you really did not want to be any later if avoidable. Unfortunately, your particular global class was located on the third floor. 

After two flights of stairs, hallway after hallway of running, and nearly knocking over other students, you finally burst into your classroom, panting like you had just run a marathon. The entire class room froze at your loud entrance, and the professor was glaring daggers at you.

“I-I’m sorry I’m late!” you exclaim, fumbling for words. “I- uh, slept in!” The professor gives you a skeptical look.

“It’s nearly one in the afternoon.” You shift nervously, flustered. You hate having professors angry with you.

“Uh, long night.” With an irritated sigh, he waves you off with one of his hands.

“Take a seat, Mr. Egbert. I normally expect better of you.” You flinch, the comment striking you right in the chest. God, facing angry professors is the most stressful thing. Nodding quickly, you hurry up the aisle and search for your usual seat.

Finally you find it, next to a rather angry looking Karkat, and you hurry over, gulping a bit before sitting down. Once you’re in your seat, the professor resumes his lecture, and as usual, a few minutes in, small conversations start among students, knowing the old cook wouldn’t notice the talking in the middle of a rant.

You’re stiff in your seat, knowing fully well that neither you nor Karkat are actually listening to the lecture, and that your roommate probably had a few stern words for you. Finally, he administers them.

“Where the fuck were you last night?” His voice is harsh, but quiet so that his talking will go undetected. He’s scowling down at his desk.

“I told you I was going to a friends,” you reply, which is the full truth, you had him you’d be going out.

“You said you would be back.” You grit your teeth, knowing he won’t be happy with you for a while.

“I decided to sleep over. I’m sorry for not texting you.”

“I was really worried, asshole.”

For a lengthy amount of time, the smaller male says nothing more, just fuming in his seat. You shift a bit, not making eye contact with him, though you can feel him flick his gaze to you every moment or so.

Finally he says something. “Are those Dave’s clothes?” You tense up. How the hell did he recognize them? You begin to panic in your mind, how are you going to explain to him why you’re wearing Dave’s clothes?

“Uh, yeah,” you said, laughing nervously to try and make the situation less conspicuous. If anything it makes it more so. Karkat narrows his eyes.

“Why.”

You gulp. “Uh, well, I didn’t have a change of clothes.. and besides, he insisted I not wear clothes I’d already worn all day! Mhm.” 

That oughta convince him. In your mind, making it look like you didn’t want to wear them would help it be believable. The reality was that you were actually quite enjoying wearing the Strider’s threads. His scent was intoxicating, Old Spice and all, and it was all over you. You loved it, and kinda hoped that you were allowed to keep them for a while before Dave asked for them back.

“Did Dave insist you wear jeans that pop your ass out for him too?” 

You don’t think your face had ever been redder. You don’t respond, remaining tight lipped, and you hear Karkat snort, obviously disgruntled, the noise more of an affirmation of what he assumed. You really hoped he couldn’t see what was going on. You had planned to talk to him yourself about. Looked like you had to do it soon instead of putting it off any more.

The awkward silence stemming from your roommate’s comment continued throughout most of the two hour class. It was only towards the end that you decided to break the silence, unable to take it anymore. You hated the tense, awful air. 

“I was thinking we could pick up some Chinese food for dinner, does that sound alright with you?” Karkat grunted a bit, but nodded.

“We are not getting that fucking awful General Sow shit or whatever the fuck it’s called again.” You smile a little, some of the awkward air between you lifted.

“Aw, come on! It wasn’t that bad!” you argue, whining a little.

“Do you lack any taste buds, you idiot?” 

“Fine, fine, no General Tso’s chicken,” you agree, chuckling a bit. “Grumpy little brat,” you mutter under your breath, shooting a glance at him.

“Tasteless, ugly prick.”

“You take that back! I am most certainly not ugly, I’m adorable as hell.”

“You are about as adorable as a drowned rat.”

You huff and are about to object, but then the professor call out to the class that they are all free to go and Karkat gets up. You follow suit, and the two of you walk side by side out of the room, and you think that your roommate is past the whole incident, which would be a wonderful miracle.

However you are probably not correct in your assumption.

Once out of the building, both of you come to the conclusion that taking the bus back to your dorms is the best choice opposed to walking the whole five miles. The walk to the bus itself isn’t that bad, but the both of you have to rush to get to the bus stop in time.

Not a moment after you pick out a seat on the public bus and settle in than do you hear, and now feel, your phone buzzing indicating a message. In these god damn jeans you can feel the vibration like it’s against your bare skin. It’s a bit of an unnerving feeling.

You pull out your phone and open the message, already knowing who it’s from. Karkat glances over to your phone, but you think nothing of it. What does it matter if he knows who you’re texting?

 

_hey egbert. how was your boring ass class? <3_

You smile a little, thrilled at the heart. He sent you a heart, holy shit. For whatever reason, this sent butterflies straight to your stomach.

 

_totally laaaaame :( i’d rather be hanging with my sweet bro again 8I <3_

You think the response is rather appropriate, just sweet enough. You’re not sure if dating a guy and texting him is the same as texting a girl you’re seeing. Your phone buzzes not even a minute after you sent your message.

 

_hey man, no jackin my emotion 8I_

You chuckle a little and quickly type out a response. You end up texting Dave the entire ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and keeping up everyone! I may or may not be able to update by next Monday, as I will be away for the weekend, but hopefully the chapter will be done before then and posted on schedule! Keep checking my blog for updates, thank you for all your support! It is greatly appreciated.


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